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On arrival, after parking the police car, Constable Williams accompanied the visibly very nervous Fiddler into Wadebridge Police Station where the policeman informed Sergeant Tregelles that he had a gentleman very keen to report a missing person. The sergeant gravely listened whilst noting down the details of Fiddler’s missing blonde companion, asking questions where necessary, pencil poised in his large fist.

“Your name is Sir John Bream?”

“Yes, of course, I’ve just told you that, sergeant.”

“Indeed, you did, sir. Well, in that case, I have a warrant, here, for your arrest. Just arrived.”

“On what possible grounds?” spluttered Fiddler.

“Detective Chief Inspector Snapper will be along, shortly, sir, to discuss that very matter. Constable Williams, please, show Mr. Fiddler, to his cell to wait for the DCI. Thank you.”

“Fiddler! Nonsense. I am Sir John Bream! You must have made a mistake, a serious mistake. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” cried Fiddler as the constable firmly took his arm and led him to the waiting cell.

“There is no mistake. Not according to this arrest warrant and detailed description, Mr. Fiddler. Scotland Yard has just confirmed that there is no such person as a Sir John Bream.”

Fiddler’s indignant protests faded into the distance.

“Constable,” the sergeant beckoned him closer to the counter, “first thing, after breakfast, I want you and the duty constable to take a car with a large boot to the "Clifftop Hotel", just west of Trevaunance Cove. There’s overtime in it for you. But, I’d advise you takin' a nice nap in one of the empty cells before driving off.”

“Good idea, sir. Thank you.”

“Do you know the "Clifftop Hotel"?”

“Yes, sergeant, I do. My parents used to take me to Trevaunance Cove when I were but a lad. We used to have an ice cream, there, before walking back to the halt to catch our train ‘ome.”

“Good, good. A certain Susan Tregowan, the tragically young widow of Detective Constable Samuel Tregowan, who is working as a chambermaid at said hotel, will be expecting you. Ask for her, by name, constable, and wait for the password from her, which is ‘Golden Galleon’. She will then take you to a guest bedroom where there is a large locked trunk labelled as belonging to Sir John Bream, alias our new guest, Mr. Fiddler. You are to bring said trunk, along with Miss Tregowan, to Newquay Police Station where D.I. Rule and D.C.I. Snapper will be waitin’ to examining the trunk and D.I. Rule will take down the statements of Miss Tregowan, witnessed by the D.C.I., concerning both Mr. Fiddler and our friend, Alan Poldory, who is under police guard in Newquay Hospital, I have just been informed.”

“In hospital, sergeant?”

“Yes, a case of severe concussion aggravated by excessive alcohol consumption, according to the doctor’s report.”

“Oh, indeed. And, if I may ask, sergeant, what’s in this ‘ere trunk?”

“Well, on the understanding that you tell not a soul . . . ”

The constable gravely nodded and the sergeant leant forward over the counter and began to whisper.

“In that case, I can inform you, in the strictest confidence, mind, that it contains books an’ charts about the wrecks of the Spanish Armada ships on the Cornish coast. Of particular interest are the detailed notes in a very neat, female hand, about the wreck of one particular galleon with a hold full of chests of gold to pay the troops and local supporters after the Armada’s landing.”

“Indeed, sir. I have ‘eard such tales, as a young lad.”

“Yes, indeed, sergeant. However, Miss Tregowan has given a detailed statement about how she overheard Sir John Bream, as he claimed to be, boasting to that no-good Alan Poldory, late one night, in the hotel bar, of how he, Fiddler, was going to use this material to extract very considerable sums of money from gullible London folk under the pretence of them investing in recovering the cargo of said wrecked Spanish galleon whose location only he and his young researcher, sworn, of course, to strictest secrecy, knew.”

“I see, but . . . ”

“I’m getting to that, constable. Put the kettle and make us two nice strong mugs of tea. It’s been a LONG night for the both of us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Their mugs at hand, the sergeant, continued, after a long yawn.

“You see, constable, according to Miss Tregowan, Fiddler then revealed to Alan Poldory that the diligent research undertaken for, and paid by, him, Fiddler, had confirmed, beyond doubt, that said wrecked galleon had been relieved of all its gold by local ‘wreckers’ who had, I regret to say, put to death all the surviving crew, leavin’ no witnesses.”

“So, there was no gold left to recover.”

“Precisely. It was all a pack of lies. That is, constable,” the sergeant solemnly proclaimed, “conspiracy to commit fraud and that Poldory’s an accessory to said crime. An open and shut case with the evidence that D.I. Rule and D.C.I. Snapper have gathered, I am thinkin’.”

“Yes, sergeant,” replied the tired constable, blowing on his tea to cool it. “Be good to be rid of that Poldory, his attempt to trick the rugby specials’ passengers has not been forgotten ‘round ‘ere.”

“Indeed, not, constable. He got off far too lightly, in my and many others’ opinion but, as officers sworn to uphold the Law, we must respect the court’s decision.”

The constable nodded, sipped his tea and thought of the very welcome overtime payment coming.

Many thanks Chris the story is approaching an intreging conclusion. All your hard work this summer on Cant Cove is looking really good, thanks for the many excellent photos, look forward to more regards Derek

Thank you, Derek. Alas, I'm back at work, full-time, so very little time to do anything on Cant Cove. I'm still mulling over the details of the conclusion. I hope to post the penultimate instalment, shortly.

Back in the Great Hall of Trevelver Castle, the audience seated, again, Hughie Green once more stood beaming at the podium. The hall lights went down, for the final time, and the spotlights came on to illuminate the stage. Turning to the judges, Green announced: “It's make-your-mind-up-time!”

“Good grief”, muttered Sir Horace Speakman Court under his breath, “how much longer are we going to have put up with this idiot?”

Slowly rising from the judges’ table, Alexander Farquharson walked over to solemnly hand a large white envelope to the Master of Ceremonies who, to Farquharson’s surprise, quickly, placed it, unopened on the lectern in front of him. Hughie Green then turned to the audience and suddenly adopted a grave demeanour. His Canadian accent became more clipped and English, which those who knew him, tended to happen when he was addressing more serious matters.

“But, before I announce the verdict of our esteemed panel of judges, I want to congratulate everyone gathered here, tonight, in this ancient hall in this beautiful historic family home, for working together so harmoniously and I mean that most sincerely. . . For, I am most reliably informed . . . by our gracious hosts,” he inclined his head towards Lord and Lady Trevelver, “that, working with all our might, this very night, we . . . yes, we, by our united efforts, helped weather a gathering storm of such unworldly might that, if it had broken, would have been not just the end of this our beloved country but . . .” His face, unaccustomedly solemn began to return to normal. “But, friends, as we can all see, looking about us, we did not perish. No, we did not! So, let us all together say, to each other as we lift up our heads and our glasses, we did it! We succeeded, united, together. And it cost nothing but determination, hard work, and from all of us: guts!”

At this the audience, virtually all of whom had only the faintest memory, let alone any clear idea, of what had just transpired, looked at the solemn Master of Ceremonies with incredulous amazement.

“I always thought he was a rum chap but, after that speech, I think he has, finally, gone completely off his head,” muttered Sir Horace Speakman Court into his malt whisky.

“Hear, hear,” agreed Lord Trevelver.

“Shush, dear,” admonished his wife.

Returning to his normal self, Hughie beamed at his bemused audience before continuing, “Vote, vote, vote, ‘cos your votes count, Mr. Alexander Farquharson, told ‘em and, ladies and gentlemen, and I mean that most sincerely, they certainly have and, now, is the time we have all been waiting for!”

After tearing open the envelope and slowly taking out the enclosed paper, Hughie announced, to the audience’s considerable collective surprise that the menu of dishes prepared by Wally Percival, supported by his friend, Alun, was the winner by one vote (once again, one of the four other judges had been unable to decide between the two competing chefs) against that of the local favourite, Madern Prennec, who looked annoyed but only mildly so.

After polite, if noticeably rather unenthusiastic applause from the tired audience, Baron Toby and Lady Anabelle Tiverton then rose and Baron Tiverton announced that, having decided to upgrade the tea rooms at Beresford Arboretum to a fine dining restaurant, he was very pleased to offer the winner of the Samphire competition a lucrative contract as chef in residence.

Overwhelmed by his good fortune and accompanied, at his insistence by Alun, who was even more modest than his good friend, a grinning Wally Percival, walked up to the stage, accepted his prize certificate and an engraved silver miniature chef’s hat, thanked everyone, beginning with Alun, before announcing, to greater applause, that it gave him great pleasure to accept Baron Toby’s gracious offer and Alun would be accompanying him, if that was acceptable to Baron Toby who, smiling, replied that, indeed it was and he would be honoured to have the winning team in charge of his new restaurant.

Whilst the secondary prizes for the individual courses were announced and thanks to all involved in the organisation of the night’s public events were made, the event’s official photographer, Broderick Haldane, careful (as always) not to get in anyone’s way, took picture after picture for the special sponsored commemorative book to be published by the advertising firm of Trevelver and Guillou (Wadebridge and London), alias Sylvia and Eli.

Truth be told, Maddern Prenec had not been as concerned with proving the superiority of Cornish samphire as his rival chef had obviously been for that from the Northwest. If it had been Breton samphire he would have shared the disappointment of many in the audience that the Cornish samphire had not been adjudged the overall winner. Maddern’s gala dinner, at the Castle, the Friday evening, had been an acknowledged triumph and had given him and his team far more satisfaction than this evening’s had. If only, Michel Pronin, the head chef of the "Station Hotel", Trepol Bay, had not had to withdraw . . . Now, he was a rival who would have spurred him and his team to even greater heights of culinary inspiration! As it was, Maddern’s starter lightly poached Cornish Samphire tossed in a prawn and white wine reduction (Sauvignon Blanc-1962 vintage) served with a fried sea bass fillet and thin sliced toasted Cornish bread slithers, had been judged the winner. However, his main course of Roasted Red Gurnard fillets in a black butter sauce served with herbed sweet potato mash, seasonal petit pois, sliced runner beans and pickled red cabbage had been judged as being inferior to his rival’s. In contrast, Wally Percival’s starter of Morecambe Bay Oysters with fresh salad (with a chilli and white wine dressing) and served with crusty bread had been judged as being inferior whilst his main course of devilled mackerel served with lightly boiled Northern samphire (with a lemon and thyme jus), accompanied by baby Jersey Royal potatoes, sliced sautéed leeks and roasted celeriac had been pronounced the clear course winner as well as the evening’s overall winner and won him the grand prize. Honours were even for the two chef’s deserts (one of the five judges had been unable to decide between the two competing chefs’ dishes), although the audience favoured Wally Percival’s special Black Forest Gateau.

Then as the final farewells were made, the tired, and still more than somewhat bewildered, guests finally left the Great Hall to board the small fleet of hired Southern National ‘buses which had been moved round to the Castle’s front entrance to take the exhausted guests to their hotels en route to Wadebridge station where the remaining, local, guests would board the waiting train stopping at all stations plus some halts to Truro from which taxis, booked by Trevelver Castle, would take those alighting, the remainder of the journeys home. There would be very few up early the next day. At the Castle itself, Lord and Lady Trevelver and all their house guests made their tired way to their respective bedrooms. Breakfast would be served late and for most of the following morning.

Thank you, Martin and Lawrence and all the other readers for their patience. It has been an epic story with plenty of interlocking sub-plots, many continuing from previous stories of Martin and I and some looking forward to future stories. (And I still have to conclude the 'Christmas story' of several years ago!)

That is, indeed, the main part of the story concluded. However, there is an epilogue to come to 'clear the decks'.

Yes, please, Lawrence. Wally Percival with his best friend, Alun Peacock, who have been staying in the "Molesworth Arms Hotel", Wadebridge’s oldest, finest watering hole, famous for its superb food, Cornish ales and relaxed atmosphere, will be leaving Cornwall, on the Monday afternoon, from Bodmin Road to Liverpool on the through train departing from Plymouth at 12 Noon to say their farewells and collect their belongings before journeying, by train, to Marton Hinmarche and the next stage in their culinary career.

My last weekend before the student assignments begin so here is the first part of the Epilogue.

The next morning, unusually, there was a buffet breakfast prepared at Trevelver Castle by the Head Butler as his wife, the Castle’s Housekeeper, like all the women in the Castle, was still fast asleep.

Lord Trevelver, who had always been an early riser since his prep. school days, was the first to arrive at the breakfast room. Immediately, the Head Butler, who had served, as an NCO, with him in the British Army, in North Germany, in the last war, in T-Force, appeared with freshly brewed coffee and hot, buttered toast, on a silver tray. They were alone. Lord Trevelver gestured to his old friend to join him.

“Well, Jenkins, Lady Penelope only managed to fill in a few of the details of what exactly happened, last night, before we both fell into a deep sleep. As we both know, nothing of importance ever escapes you, so . . . ”

Lord Trevelver was not a man ever given to much introspection or to an exaggerated opinion of his abilities. He knew that his wife was the one with the brains and, every day, was grateful for that fact. The Castle’s Lord had a relaxed, easy-going charm that the young Penelope had found irresistible and had facilitated his rise in the Army. However, early in his life, realising that charm and self-confidence would take him only so far, he had discovered the importance of surrounding himself with those whose superior abilities he could depend on and Huw Jenkins was just such a man. They had not only survived many significant trials together but had, at least, on paper, almost the same level of security clearance. After his wife, Jenkins was the person he relied on the most and trusted the most.

“Well, milord, as you know, we both received the same briefing from Whitehall and Admiral Tregowan, who, as you also know, was recently present at a top-secret meeting at the Ministry of Defence . . .”

Lord Trevelver almost choked on his toast before reminding himself of what he had just said.

The Head Butler had just finished supplying the missing details when the Doctor, Captain Jeremy, and Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart arrived and began discussing the night’s events and their plans.

“Naughty Morty, I’m sure to everyone’s considerable relief, has received an urgent telegram calling him to London for a series of urgent and highly confidential meetings, and has taken a taxi with Admiral Tregowan to Bodmin Road to catch the next express to Paddington,” announced Captain Jeremy. “I would imagine that, as soon as the meetings’ agenda has been discussed, the Admiral will insist they go to the restaurant car!”

They all laughed before Lethbridge-Stewart, responded. “Leaving my men and me in charge of the "Golden Hoard" or "Horde" in the cellar under the Owl Tower until Whitehall decides its fate.”

“Well, gentlemen,” responded the Doctor, as Jenkins poured coffee for the three new arrivals. “I long ago exhausted the possibilities of interesting conversations with Sir Mortimer and my investigations of the contents of that particular cellar so, I’ll be taking my leave, tomorrow, after an early breakfast.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Doctor,” said Lord Trevelver. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“Quite.”

“And Miss Susan?”interjected the Head Butler, as he added cream to the crested china coffee cups.

“Oh, she’ll be quite happy to stay here with her friends until my return. What about you, Captain Jeremy?”

“I’ll be returning to Plymouth, by train, Doctor, as soon as my men have finished packing up all the equipment onto our lorries and then taking it down to the goods yard for loading onto the special vans and wagons, there, before seeing it safely on its way to Cardiff and Torchwood, accompanied by an armed section of my best men.”

“Sylvia will be sorry you’re gone.”

“It will be a while, yet, Lord Trevelver. The Wadebridge Yardmaster will confirm the arrangements for the special train, this afternoon. He thinks Cardiff will send one of their brand new “Hymek” diesels and that the train will travel overnight. Those off-duty will enjoy a special double ration of Navy Rum.”

“So, not today, then?”

“Highly unlikely, Lord Trevelver.”

“Good, good. You’ll still be here then, when the ladies finally get up to join us.”

“Oh, I think so. After lunch, we will take a relaxing walk in the grounds.”

“She’ll be staying, here, with Sylvia, Eli, Belinda, Suzi, Monique, Jenny, and Amanda, until they’re ready to return to Chelsea, together, with Giles,” answered Captain Jeremy. “They are all still very concerned about Angela.”

“Quite understandable in the circumstances but there’s absolutely no need for concern. The young lady’s recovering, slowly but surely, in the medical bay of the TARDIS. By Spring, I can most confidently assure you that she will be as near to a complete recovery as is possible.”

“Quite, quite, my dear Colonel” responded the Doctor. “But, after what we have all just been through, I have no doubt, no doubt at all, about the ability of each and every one of you to keep it, and much else that has passed, here, quiet. Now, how about some more of this excellent toast.”

“Our Continental friends will be off on the special train connecting with the night sailing from Port Regleun?” asked Lord Trevelver, once Jenkins had returned from the toaster.

“Yes, milord. The stationmaster at Cant Cove has confirmed the bookings and all the arrangements. A BR van will be coming from Wadebridge to take all their luggage down to Cant Cove station. Similar arrangements have been made for our British friends, including special through carriages wherever possible. Those travelling beyond Cornwall will enjoy, at the very least, reserved places in a buffet car whilst our friends from Perthshire will have both a restaurant car and a sleeping car included among their special through carriages. At this time of year, there was no problem finding suitable coaches and locomotives. No doubt there will be some interesting workings for our local enthusiasts.”

“Thank you, Jenkins. As efficient as always”. Jenkins solemnly nodded in acknowledgement. “Sofi will be especially be missed by her friends and admirers; as will all of our friends from across the Channel, of course.”

“Indeed, milord.”

Captain Jeremy could be seen to blush at Lord Trevelver’s mention of Sofia de La Vega, quickly rising from the table to get a boiled egg after having already finished a hearty cooked breakfast. However, only the Head Butler noticed.

“And when do you plan to depart, Doctor?” asked Jenkins, clearing away the cooked breakfast plates.

“On Monday morning’s 8.39 from Wadebridge to Waterloo. I have important business in London and, then Cardiff. I will send a . . . telegram when I know when and on which train I will be returning.”

“I will make the bookings and can arrange a special stop for the train at Cant Cove, for you, instead,” replied Hughes.

Thank you, very nice indeed. I did search, in the Summer, for 3D-printed 2mm Scale mermaids but did not think to search in German. I have to admit the 3D-printed mermaid is far superior to my handmade efforts. I may buy one and spraypaint it in grey as a carved stone statue on a plinth (if I can find somewhere to place it) for which the positioning of the tail would suit it better than placing on a rock or in the sea.

It will be a long while before I have time to construct and spraypaint them but I have ordered, along with other items (unfortunately the Gresley BG kits are still unavailable), 10 X NGS Kit 62 BR A & BD Type Containers to become PO livery containers in Brian (Mito), Martin, and my fictional companies' colours. (I hope there will be custom transfers to match, later.)

From the kit instructions:

"The A type container was the smaller design, with doors at one end only. It was approximately 7ft 6in long, 7ft wide and 8ft high giving a capacity of approximately 325 cu ft. Original designs were rated at one ton but this was increased to 4 tons. There were three distinct designs, of which the plywood end version cannot be represented by this kit, though the tongue-and-groove and pressed-steel ends can.

The BD type container was the most popular with British Railways, basically an A type container but much longer.

Capacity was around 720 cu ft and load four tons (later five tons). As with the A type, there were three types of end, the tongue-and-groove end was used though by far the most populous was the pressed-steel end.

Containers were usually carried on a Conflat wagon (such as the Peco and Bachmann models) secured by four chains, one at each corner. For the smaller A type, the end door always faced one end of the wagon and the container was placed centrally."

The smaller A type containers will add to the variety of PO livery containers available. As there are already plenty of Peco kit B containers in our liveries I may spraypaint some of the BD containers in BR Bauxite and/or resell them unpainted.

A tip for those who like to do their own DCC-fitting, via Douglas of Wickness Models, who does my DCC-fitting: "I'm now using Gaugemaster DCC22 and DCC23 decoders for DCC ready and tender fittings, they are actually exactly the same as the old Digitrax DZ126 I used to use made by Digitrax for Gaugemaster. Importing has become too expensive with the value of the pound.

Still using Lenz for the ones with less space of course." [I think he means the Lenz Silver Mini.]

I neglected to mention that, last week, my 5 X packs of SR ground signals (2 per pack) arrived, 10 should be more than enough. They are ready painted and decorated and look very good. That only leaves full-size signals which will have to be adapted from GWR post and LMR lattice ones. However, it will be a while before the ground signals are glued in position.

I'm now building up BR Crimson & Cream rakes of LMR and ER coaches for the Summer Saturday long-distance trains to match the BR SR and BR WR rakes.

The ER one (all Gresley designs), unusually, includes a Buffet but the down train does start and the up end at Newcastle! Besides the Buffet, it is formed of an all second and a brake composite. The fourth coach will be one of the new Thompson Brake Seconds and, perhaps, a fifth a Thompson Composite. However, the new coaches are getting ever more expensive. (Fortunately, for me, the GBP is falling vs. the Czech Crown.) Until the Thompsons are available, additional coaches can be formed of BR Lined Maroon ER BR Standards.

The LMR equivalent (all Stanier corridor designs and working from / to Manchester) does not include a Buffet and will be formed of a Corridor Second, a Composite, and a Brake Second. A 4th and 5th coach can be formed of Stanier design coaches but in BR Lined Maroon or ER BR Standards in the later livery.

As the late 1950s progress into the early 1960s, BR Lined Maroon Gresleys and Staniers will slowly replace the BR Crimson & Cream ones then more BR Standard coaches appear gradually replacing the pre-BR designs.